
THE VOICE 
IN THE SILENCE 



THOMAS S. JONES, JR 




ch,, Tb^S/^ 



t 



Book 



QkYAL 



fapyrightN" l^/S 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE VOICE IN THE SILENCE 



BOOKS BY MR. JONES 



The Voice in the Silence 

The Rose-Jar 

Interludes 

From Quiet Valleys 

The Path o* Dreams 

(with Clinton Scollard) 

From the Heart of the Hills 



THE VOICE IN THE 
SILENCE BY THOMAS 
Sr JONES, JR. 




PORTLAND MAINE 

THE MOSHER PRESS 

MDCCCCXV 






r\f 



COPYRIGHT 
THOMAS S. JONES, JR. 

1911 : 1915 



FIRST EDITION, 
SECOND EDITION, 
THIRD EDITION, 




DECEMBER, I9II 

JANUARY, I9I3 

APRIL, I915 



/, 3-v/ 



APR -7 1915 



TO 
KATHERINE OSBORNE 



y 



The one whole song of this true poet touches the 
imagination in a way which may be best, yet far from 
perfectly, described by likening its effect to that of a 
single episode in a masterwork of a closely allied art — 
to a certain scene in Tannhauser. The curtain rises 
on the stage, disclosing the edge of a beautiful forest. 
In full view is a solitary high rock around the base of 
which winds an ancient road — the road of human 
feet. On the rock sits a youthful shepherd and in the 
shepherd's hands is the pipe of- his sylvan solacing art. 
Amid the forest's beauty, stillness, loneliness, first he 
sings — self-attentive to his wistful joy. Then he 
places the pipe to his uncompanioned lips and blows 
his song out upon the bright atmosphere — still retain- 
ing for himself the gayety of a consecrated surrender 
to its plaintive note. Soon he is disturbed and silenced 
by another sound — the slow heavily burdened chorus 
of a band of coming pilgrims. Their variously com- 
mingled voices draw nearer, grow louder. The sandaled 
wayfarers of the soul appear. Tliey advance. Their 
chant rises with fullest volume as they surge round 
the rock. They pass on; they are seen no more; for 
a while their song lingers down the leafy glades ; then 
it too dies out in the distance. Again is the unchanged 



stillness of the forest, the unchanged loneliness of the 
road save for fresh imprints of care-worn feet. And 
yet once more the youthful shepherd will take up his 
pipe and blow upon the air his uninterrupted song. 
He will neither forget it nor will he change it. He 
will borrow for it no note from any particular band of 
pilgrims afterwards arriving, because it is his finished 
song of them before they arrive. It heralds their 
approach before they are heard ; it continues their 
presence after they are gone. It is the one song of 
his life about all pilgrim bands who pass his way — 
along the same human road — around his woodland 
rock : the rock overlooking the road, the song blend- 
ing the sounds of the road and the forest. Thus this 
poet's song : native to the woods from which it never 
wanders ; intent upon a theme which it never relin- 
quishes — the forest and the pilgrims. And thus while 
his pipe has no rift in it, his song has one — the never 
to be mended rift between nature and humanity. 

JAMES LANE ALLEN 



Thanks are due the Editors of Harper^s 
Magazine, Scribner^s Magazine, The Book 
News Monthly, The Pathfinder ^ The 'Deline- 
ator, The Smart Set, The International, The 
Lyric Year, The Boston Transcript, The 
New York Sun, and the other publications 
in which the poems of this collection 
originally appeared, for their kind per- 
mission to reprint. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TO SONG 3 

IN EXCELSIS 4 

INTIMATIONS 6 

A DEBT 7 

OF ONE WHO WALKS ALONE . 8 

IN MEMORY 9 

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL . . 10 

A SYMPHONY 11 

THE PINES . .12 

AS THROUGH A GLASS ... 13 

BEYOND 14 

THE WAY BACK .... 15 
THE QUIET VALLEY . .16 
ON A FLY-LEAF OF " THE CHOIR 

INVISIBLE" .... 18 

URBS BEATA 19 

TO ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON 20 

ENDYMION 21 

AT THE WHITE GATE ... 22 

EMBER-GLOW 23 

THE SILENCES 24 

xi 



CONTENTS 






PAGE 


LILAC-TIME 26 


THE WAYS OF SPRING 






27 


EBB-TIDE . 






28 


STILL-WATERS 






29 


THE MOORS 






30 


THE ROAD 






31 


CANDLE-LIGHT 






32 


FORGOTTEN 






33 


WIDE PASTURES 






35 


AT THE ROAD'S END 






36 


SAPPHICS 


TO A GREEK STATUE ... 43 


ONLY 






44 


AT THE WINDS' CALL 






45 


TO A HILL-TOWN . 






46 


ELEGY 






47 


THE GIFTS OF PEACE 






48 



XI 1 



THE VOICE IN THE SILENCE 




TO SONG 

ERE shall remain all tears for lovely things 
And here enshrined the longing of great hearts, 
Caughtonalyre whence waking wonder starts, 
To mount afar upon immortal wings ; 
Here shall be treasured tender wonderings. 
The faintest whisper that the soul imparts, 
All silent secrets and all gracious arts 
Where nature murmurs of her hidden springs. 




O magic of a song ! here loveliness 

May sleep unhindered of life's mortal toll, 

And noble things stand towering o'er the tide ; 
Here mid the years, untouched by time or stress, 
Shall sweep on every wind that stirs the soul 
The music of a voice that never died ! 



IN EXCELSIS 

CPRING! 

^^ And all our valleys turning into green, 

Remembering — 

As I remember ! So my heart turns glad 

For so much youth and joy — this to have had 

When in my veins the tide of livmg fire 

Was at its flow; 

This to know, 

When now the miracle of young desire 

Burns on the hills, and spring's sweet choristers again 

Chant from each tree and every bush aflame 

Love's wondrous name ; 

This under youth's glad reign, 

With all the valleys turning into green — 

This to have heard and seen ! 

And Song ! 

Once to have known what every wakened bird 

Has heard ; 

Once to have entered into that great harmony 

Of love's creation, and to feel 

The pulsing waves of wonder steal 

Through all my being ; once to be 

In that same sea 

Of wakened joy that stirs in every tree 



And every bird ; and then to sing — 

To sing aloud the endless Song of Spring ! 

Waiting, I turn to Thee, 

Expectant, humble, and on bended knee ; 

Youth's radiant fire 

Only to burn at Thy unknown desire — 

For this alone has Song been granted me. 

Upon Thy altar burn me at Thy will ; 

All wonders fill 

My cup, and it is Thine ; 

Life's precious wine 

For this alone : for Thee. 

Yet never can be paid 

The debt long laid 

Upon my heart, because my lips did press 

In youth's glad Spring the Cup of Loveliness ! 



INTIMATIONS 

O O life goes by, yet leaves this starry gold : 
^^ All things that once were wonderful and true, 
Kin to the best and what may not grow old, 
Sifted of dust, disclosed forever new. 

Thus in the waste of swiftly passing years 

These wondrous things are proof of what may be, 

For even now beyond the gate of tears 
They stand revealed in immortality. 



A DEBT 

T"^IME has been prodigal of fairy-gold 
-*- Which I have hoarded tenderly away, 
Mayhap to squander in that later day 

When Winter has come on and I am old ; 

But now the Spring has marvels manifold, 
And youth still trembles in its sunlit sway, 
So do I wonder how I shall repay 

A debt for all the joy one heart can hold. 

I wonder, and the answer comes full clear: 
To keep a heart in joy, to sing again 

When Winter has come on and life is bare ; 
For you do know the Spring is ever near, 
And haply to some lonely soul in pain 
You may pay back in largess unaware. 



OF ONE WHO WALKS ALONE 

^ I ''HESE are the ways of one who walks alone, 
"*- Sweet silent ways that lead toward twilight skies, 
Bees softly winging where a low wind sighs 
Through the hills' hollow, cool and clover-blown. 

These are the ways that call one back again 
To old forgotten things in faded years, 
Swift on a moment of remembered tears 

They stand from out the dust where they have lain. 

These are the ways life's simple secrets bless. 

Keen homely scents borne by each haunted wind, — 
Here in the silence one may ever find 

That last strange peace whose name is loneliness. 



IN MEMORY 

'' I "^HERE is one cloistered place that still would keep 
-*■ A single dream should all the others go, 
For ever it is just the same as though 
It rested in God's loving hand asleep. 

Its hills are steadfast and its trees are true. 
And all its wmds are like the winds of June; 
And life is never old nor out of tune, 

And youth is golden as the skies are blue. 

O quiet vale asleep beneath God's smile ! 
I ever need you for the ways are far, 
And through all things I seem to know you are 

A little vision of the after-while. 



THE GUARDIAN ANGEL 

QOMETIMES a waking dream my life will be 

^^ Too wonderful for words or any song, 
As if the moment time had burst its thong 

And passed the verge of immortality ; 

Sometimes the fates do spin so lavishly 

A web of rarest joy with threads so strong, 
That then I know grief cannot last for long 

Since endless beauty is unveiled to me. 

What though one stand without the gates of gold, 
Seeing beyond, time is a little thing. 

And in the silence all things may abide ; 
For Memory her mighty wings will fold 
About each dream with gentle winnowing, 
And they are safe . . . and I am satisfied. 



10 



A SYMPHONY 

TO-DAY, a symphony ! 
An ecstasy of sound, a rushing sea 
Of tonal wonder through the trees ! 
Truly are these 
The flutes i^olian. 
And Pan 
The piper of lost melodies ! 

Winds all day long, 

Sweeping the branches on a thousand strings 

Of myriad notes ; and tremulous, the song 

Of birds in haunting harmony ! — 

Floods of full sound, piercing and strong. 

Yet laden with a tenderness that sings 

Into the soul, — an undertone 

Poignant as memory : 

A sweetness blown 

Across discordant years. 

Caught from the rhythm of the chanting spheres ! 

It must be Pan, indeed ! 

For now the dusk unveils the evening-star, 

And as a dream 

The winds blend into one exquisite theme, — 

Then faint afar 

Like the low piping of a shepherd's reed. 



11 



THE PINES 

TN lofty galleries of greenery 

■*- They rise and meet the azure of the sky, 
A pillared nave whose arches frail and high 

Breathe with an organ's solemn melody : 

Now like the minor surging of the sea 

Or low and faint as wings that startle by — 
As sweet-tuned winds that quaveringly sigh 

Adown dim aisles of cloistered pageantry. 

While through the stretches of this lovely fane 
The swaying censers shed a drowsy smell 
Heavy with some rare fragrance from afar, 
Upon the pavement falls the sunset stain, 

The dusk creeps on . . . softly a twilight bell 
And now, the altar-candle of a star ! 



12 



AS THROUGH A GLASS 

A SOFT thin haze of misty golden-green 
-*- ^ Lies on the valley, tenuous and frail, 
Touches the far hills with its sunlit sheen, 
And folds the distance in a filmy veil. 

Is there naught else drifted between our eyes 
And endless beauty that can never pale? — 

Are these but vistas of some paradise 

Seen through the meshes of a golden veil 1 



13 



BEYOND 

T WONDER if the tides of Spring 
^ Will always bring me back again 
Mute rapture at the simple thing 
Of lilacs blowing in the rain. 

If so, my heart will ever be 

Above all fear, for I shall know 

There is a greater mystery 

Beyond the time when lilacs blow. 



14 



THE WAY BACK 

NO more the road shall turn, 
And sudden through the trees, the hills, 
The gleam of water, and the winding road. 
Never at sunset, the low lying clouds. 
The scent of all the loveliness of Spring, 
And then the moon and silence and your hand. 

But I shall ever turn 

Back on that road 

In memory, and stand 

With you at sunset, while the clouds 

Lie golden on those well-loved hills . . . 

So shall 1 ever come to you and Spring. 



15 



THE QUIET VALLEY 



TTERE only dreams will come the live-long day, 
^ •*■ Dreams left behind, but here fulfilled at last ; 
For in this haven time is put away, 

And, like the clouds, the freighted hours drift past. 

Far, far away within the guarding hills 
The changing beauty every moment fills, 
Here, in the shelter, is the sweet release 
Where life drains deeply from the cup of peace. 



16 



II 



THE west is liquid in the tawny light, 
The hills are billows of a purple sea, 
Low in the east the shadows of the night 
Creep up the sky in waves of mystery. 

And now above the fading after-glow 
The little moon hangs like a silver bow, 
Till it too sinks behind the purple-bar, 
Leaving the silence to the evening-star. 



17 



ON A FLY-LEAF OF "THE CHOIR INVISIBLE" 

TO J. L. A. 

T?OREVER burns the glory of the Grail, 
^ And still across the years its crimson stain 
Shadows the heart of him who seeks in vain 

ft 

A perfect service that may never fail ; 

And lest the sacred radiance should pale 
It still is served by the unending train 
''Of those immortal dead who live again" 

And lend new wonder to a time-sweet tale. 

So here anew is one who saw the gleam, 
And followed blindly on the valiant quest, 

Whose windings may seem ofttimes dark and sad ; 
Yet to our eyes he shows a clearer Dream, 
And in his knighthood of divine unrest 
Bears on his arm the shield of Galahad ! 



18 



URBS BE ATA 

IVyTAY it not be that we at last shall win * 

-^ -*■ That Place long sought whose towers we both 
have seen ? 
Can we forget, who oft so near have been 

That ever music sounds above life's din? 

For now there beats a melody within 

Each moment, and white visions intervene 

Where earth's dull clouds unfurl their misty screen, 

And where the paths are dark and choked with sin. 

It lies so near that often in the dawn, 

Or when the stars first show their silver fire. 
We seem on old lost ways we once have trod : 
Upon the grass a Light no more withdrawn, 
Upon the wind a Song time cannot tire. 
And in our hearts the very Voice of God. 



19 



TO ROSAMUND MARRIOTT WATSON 

DIED DECEMBER, 1911 

^X /"IDE scattered rose-leaves on a dewy lawn, 
' ^ The call of birds, the hush of gentle rain, 
Low airs that whisper at the verge of dawn, 
Music and twilight and the shadows' stain. 

These fill your song, apart from noise and stress, 
Sweet with the murmur of faint winds afar. 

Steadfast in peace and nature's quietness, 
Laden with beauty as frail roses are. 



20 



ENDYMION 

IVTO elder hour may speak to you and me" 

■^ ^ While this sweet moment breathes oblivion, 
For even now the west enfolds the sun 

And all the valleys are a flaming sea . . . 

A distant flash of wings unfurled and free 

Toward one lone star where clouds their ravels run, 
And through the drifting veil in silver spun 

The summer moon's white face of mystery. 

But with the moon, old dreams and old-world pain, 
Borne on the winds of memory and time 
That sweep away the fading twilight spell ; 
And in the pale glow something back again, 

Something to wake the blood's swift pulsing rhyme, 
Immortal Youth amid the asphodel ! 



21 



AT THE WHITE GATE 

TO THE MEMORY OF MICHAEL FAIRLESS 

TT is not far, the life of adoration, 
-*• For all about its many symbols lie : 
Each dawn has known the mystic elevation, 
And twilight burns pale tapers in the sky. 

It is not far, but in each touch of wonder 
That clothes the landscape in a filmy veil, 

And in the winds and the deep voice of thunder. 
And on the music of a summer gale. 

Yet in the darkness of the silent places 

Is the one door that guards the sacred shrine, — 

Around the portal are the angel faces, 
Within, the everlasting Bread and Wine. 



22 



EMBER-GLOW 

TO ROY ROLFE GILSON " 

A SILVERED sky swept by the misting rain, 
-^ ^ A maze of tree-tops tossing to and fro ; 

But here within, the fading ember-glow 
Streaking the shadows with a golden stain. 

Outside the storm, but here where discords cease 
In warmth and silence and the fire-light's spell 
A sheltered space for simple faith to dwell, — 

A little haven of eternal peace. 



23 



THE SILENCES 

I 

'^^OT in the stress of noon's unshadowed tide 
-*" ^ But where the dusk is vague with memory^ 
Down lonely lanes where dreams mayhap abide 
Or far adrift on some unfathomed sea. 

There for the moment, we who knew the flame 
Of one sad day beside life's heedless stream 

May, through the stillness, almost hear the same 
Soft falling waters on the shores of dream. 



24 



II 



T~^ID we but always know that this were best : 
-^-^ These silent trees that guard the sunset's rim, 
These old gray hills that once meant only rest 
Nor wavered when our memory grew dim. 

Yet now no loveliness may speed in vain, 

No waste of dawn in youth's fast fading year, 

Sweet with the tenderness of twilight rain 
And wistful with the songs we did not hear. 



25 



LILAC-TIME 

III 

OO still the lilacs hang, so ghostly white 
^ In the soft washes of the cloud-swept moon, 
And all the grass is gray with silver light 
For Spring to say her last farewell to June. 

Roses will riot now where all is gray, 

And in the grasses boom the summer bees . . . 
But I shall only see the lilacs sway 

And seek their fragrance 'neath my empty trees. 



?6 



THE WAYS OF SPRING 

IV 

'* I ''HESE paths are sweet with thought of April's green, 
-■- For time may never sweep life's drift away : 
Each rain-blown leaf holds much of yesterday, 
Each tree a testament to Spring unseen. 

Lanes still the same in April-tide or now. 

White with soft bloom or golden or stript bare. 
Spring ever came to make their branches fair 

Nor marked the shadow of an empty bough. 



27 



EBB-TIDE 

V 

^ I ""HE far soft reaches of the purple hills, 

-*- The flame of gold and red, the haze swept sky, 
The hush of simple hours the silence fills, — 
These sad and lovely things as shore-drift lie. 

Sweet wreckage of a swiftly ebbing year, 

Hidden in flood-depths and undreamed before, 

Yet now left lying and unladen here, — 

Sea-drift and star-drift on a wind-washed shore. 



28 



STILL-WATERS 

VI 

\X 7HILE peace withholds the sands of waning day, 
^ ^ And ere the sunlight into dusk has grown, 
Here may I too forget and steal away 

By paths untrodden and on shores unknown. 

And mid the shadows, in some wood of dream, 
Drink from that cup untouched by joy or tears, 

Cool with the waters of a twilit stream 

Whose well-springs are the calm of all the years. 



29 



THE MOORS 

A LL day the rain, 
^ ^ Gray on the misted hills 
And on the poplar leaves, a silver veil 
Torn in the wind ; always the rustling sigh 
Of leaves and wind that fills 
The silence with a strain 
Of lonely music ; while the hours go by 
Unheeded, and the light grows pale. 

Strange quietness, — 

Mayhap the symbol of a greater peace. 

How little now the stress 

Of yesterday ; 

Even the wished-for things, how far away ! 

Rest and undreamed release. 



30 



THE ROAD 

'nr^HE long, long lane, 

-*■ The straight and narrow road, 
And these gray walls that never end. — 
And yet a bird may sing and branches bend 
In the soft hush of rain. 

Gray walls and low-blown dust, 

Yet overhead each Spring white boughs in bloom. 

Heart, heart we must 

Look skyward for the end is not in vain ; — 

Now empty gloom, 

But then, mayhap, wide pastures after rain. 

And even now 

Along this lonely road 

A bird calls bravely from a wind-swept bough. 



31 



CANDLE-LIGHT 

A S in old days of mellow candle-light, 

-^ ^ A little flame of gold beside the pane 
Where icy branches blowing in the rain 

Seem spectre fingers of a ghostly night ; 

Yet on the hearth the fire is warm and bright, 
The homely kettle steams a soft refrain. 
And to one's mind old things rush back again. 

Sweet tender things still young in death's despite. 

So, when the winter blasts across life's sea 
Do beat about my door and shake the walls 
Until the house must sink upon the sand, 
Then on some magic wind of memory. 

Borne swiftly to my heart a whisper falls, — 
And on my arm the pressure of your hand ! 



32 



FORGOTTEN 

ALL day the branches are so softly stirred, 
And ever comes a song the wind has made, 
The sunlight mingles with the drowsy shade, 
Deep in the wood a lonely thrush is heard. 

Quiet and peace across the sleeping vale 

That was forgot so many years ago ; 

Now through the pathways tall rank grasses grow, 
Tossing unhindered in the gentle gale. 

For they who used to walk these lovely ways 
Long since departed nor will come again — 
Never a footstep in the scented lane 

That once had known such happy yesterdays. 

And where the path was then so red with bloom 
Only the creeping brier its tangle shows; 
Save in the last still watches, one lone rose 

Sends through the ghostly dusk a faint perfume. 

And they who rest and long have found surcease 
Upon the little hill girt round with trees, 
Are silent through the seasons' mysteries. 

Deep in the slumber of their simple peace. 

33 



Dear lonely place, you mean so much to me 
For I have known as you the joy of Spring, 
And somehow in your sweet remembering 

You touch the very soul of memory. 



34 



WIDE PASTURES 

TS there no way to reach beyond that wall, 

'*" No voice to stir you from such slumbers deep? 

Must always silence answer to a call 

That now would wake you out of endless sleep? 

Here lie wide pastures swept by wind and rain 
Where ever you may walk unbound and free, 

Here loveliness knows neither age nor stain, 
And words are sweet in their virginity. 

Youth is so short, and only now the way 

Lies wide before you through the sunlit land, 

There is no path that leads to yesterday — 
And if to-morrow you should understand. 

Is there no way to reach beyond that wall, 
Nor any voice to waken you from sleep ? 



35 



AT THE ROAD'S END 

^T~^HERE comes no fear of that dim silent night 
-■- When I shall sleep beyond the call of day, 
When all shall cease and softly slip away 

With the dark curtain drawn across my sight ; 

For in the instant I shall know aright 
And that which was and is at last survey, 
Clear as a crystal of the wide sea spray 

And swept of clouds in one vast burning light. 

No fear, and yet my heart was wont to care 
For Spring and Summer and the maze of Fall, 
And every wind that waveringly blew ; 
And though no doubt will come when I shall fare, 
'T were hard to leave so much that held me thrall, 
And oh, the loneliness apart from you ! 




SAPPHICS 



TO 

CLINTON SCOLLARD 



SING the song of youth in its golden season, 
Youth, glad youth, more dear than the ages' treasure I 
Still as then across the far fields of twilight 
Your voice is singing. 

Hushed with wonder e'en as the low sky's flaming. 
Hushed in longing, fraught as the winds of twilight : 
Youth, dear youth, so ever your sweet voice singing, 
One with the wi?id's song. 

What are years that go as a moment' s fleeting. 
Tears forgot and lost in the dust of silence ; 
Still as then across the far fields of Lesbos 
Your voice at even I 




TO A GREEK STATUE 




H ROUGH the years you stand always gravely 
smiling, 
Warmth of earth yet snow of a driftless beauty : 
Youth and joy forever as one brief moment, 
Waiting in silence. 



And for us, the moment you stopped to listen. 
Rapt before a Voice that should tell you all things ; 
So for us, an image of life unbroken, 
Youth made immortal ! 



43 



ONLY 

SPRING will come and go in a maze of wonder, 
Skies unfurled again to the lilac weather, 
Burdened branches and always a light wind blowing 
Just as it used to. 

Only you, the secret to me of Springtime, 
All its sweetness, all of its poignant beauty . . . 
Only you may never come back, and only 
I shall remember. 



44 



AT THE WINDS' CALL 

'' I ^HERE are winds that surge as the wash of waters, 
-■- Strong and full and deep as a storm at flood-time, 
Winds that call until in my soul's far reaches 
Wakens an answer : 

Wild as winds or ever the waste sea's longing, 
Wild and lonely, stirred from the depths of hunger. 
Lonely winds, more vast are the empty spaces 
Deep in my being. 

When, at last, shall come the long-wearied silence — 
Peace, gray peace, or merely the end of dreaming; 
Yet the winds have called, and my heart's old longing 
Cries through the darkness ! 



45 



TO A HILL-TOWN 

'' I '"HIS to you across the swift years that gather, 

-*■ This to give for ways that were filled with gladness, 
Ways hill-girt and under the Spring's first sunrise — 
Paths that were golden. 

Here they lie in memory's early keeping. 
Wind-swept hills dim-misted with purple vapor — 
One lone hill and three lonely pine-trees tossing 
Black on the sky-line. 

For these most — yet dusk on the lake's still edges, 
Dusk and moonlight sweeping a wash of silver. 
Chime of bells and softly an organ's throbbing . . . 
Music and moonlight. 

And for them, long gone from the hills of morning. 
Song and laughter, voices that faintly echo . . . 
All to you, who made as a dream of beauty 
Youth's little Springtime ! 



46 



ELEGY 

TJTERE shall rest unmoved through the waning seasons 
■*• "*■ One who knew and dreamed, and forgot in dreaming; 
Now alone the trees, who remembered always, 
Are his companions. 

They to whom he came for their silent healing, 
They who ever gave of their ancient patience; 
Now alone with them and the night-wind's crooning 
Leave him forgotten. 



47 



THE GIFTS OF PEACE 

A LL day long the wind in the bending branches 
-^ ^ Softly croons a chant for the silent sleepers, 
Through the hours the birds in unceasing rapture 
Echo the wind-song. 

Tossing branches caught by the spars of sun-glow, 
Framing bits of blue with their leafy meshes, 
And upon the winds from the pine-tree's censer 
Attars unloosened. 

Far away the valley lies in a day-dream, 

Warm and golden, swept by the clouds' swift shadows, 

While the grasses like distant ocean billows 

Drift in the sunshine. 

Here is peace and loveliness ever mingled : 
Organ music of winds and birds and branches. 
And a brooding Presence that makes each moment 
A benediction. 



48 



IF at the end you still should stand in Spring 
With perfect youth above the surging years, 
Still in your eyes unfaded wondering, 

Still in your heart the essence of all tears ; 

Then might it seem that life had stripped away 
From its hid semblance the last fleeting veil, 

And I should know the dream of youth's decay 
As one who looks upon the Holy Grail. 




TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE 
COPIES OF THIS BOOK PRINTED ON 
VAN GELDER HAND-MADE PAPER AND 
THE TYPE DISTRIBUTED IN THE 
MONTH OF APRIL MDCCCCXV 




iiiir- 

016 235 




